


Can’t knock me down

by Cryptoad



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Gen, Miles is a good kid, Peter Parker Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 22:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptoad/pseuds/Cryptoad
Summary: “Peter thinks about all the universes he’d seen just moments ago. Thinks about the quantum immortality theory - where had he heard that? Physics? Philosophy? It’s as if Peter can feel his realities diverging. Knows with an odd sort of certainty that this is the point where they branch off. One little decision. In another reality Peter is probably dead.”In one reality Kingpin kills Peter. In another Miles saves him.





	Can’t knock me down

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Peter Parker had to die in Miles’ universe and I don’t want to take anything away from Miles’ story but it made me sad. :(

Peter is going to die.

There’s a hollow ache in his chest that has nothing to do with his wounds, an odd tingling in his fingers, as if he’s being sucked inside himself, imploding. It’s not that he’s never considered the possibility before. When he was 16 and stupid and convinced of his own invincibility he had thought, foolishly, that it would never happen. But he had grown older. He had grown tired. And suddenly the hits that he had previously shrugged off seemed more serious. Those life and death moments less thrilling and more frightening.

So they had planned. Peter and MJ and Aunt May. However much they had hated thinking about the possibility, Peter had hated the idea of them being unprepared even more. They had both been pragmatic about it but Peter suspects that it had all been with a sense of that same invincibility that Peter had once felt. It will never happen but…

Except now it is.

And now, even with all that planning, despite all his close calls and near death experiences, he still isn’t prepared for the visceral fear that comes with knowing - truly knowing - that this is it. The end.

His chest hurts. His whole body hurts. His heart is pounding painfully against his ribs, struggling out what might be its final beats.

The kid is crouched above him, face creased with fear. Peter doesn’t want to do this to him - wants to take him home and let his parents tuck him in to bed. Wants to take him under his wing and teach him what he knows. Wants to take the kid’s new powers away and let him go back to his safe and boring life. But most of all Peter wants to get up, to find the strength to get back up on the ceiling and plug the damn USB in himself.

That isn’t going to happen. Peter is never going to get up again. Not if his body has any say in the matter.

When he holds the USB out, his hand is trembling. It’s hard to tell if the kid - did Peter ask his name or has he just forgotten? - notices or not. He hesitates to take the USB, wide, dark eyes flitting over Peter’s half-covered face. _God,_ he’s so young. Peter feels his stomach clench guiltily - one more awful feeling on top of all the other hurts. Burdening a kid with this is the last thing he wants to do but he doesn’t exactly have much of a choice - there isn’t anyone else around who can do it and Peter isn’t going to last much longer.

“I-I can’t-“ the kid stutters and he sounds so scared that Peter’s stomach clenches again. In another life Peter could have helped this kid - could have had someone just like him, someone who understands. Of course Peter doesn’t get that. 

There’s the sour taste of acid on his tongue. A cold, bitter crawling in his gut. For once life could have just done Peter a solid.

But life wasn’t kind to his parents, or his uncle, and it’s not been kind to Peter either.

“You have to,” he insists, pressing the USB towards the kid with more urgency. It hurts to talk. There’s blood in Peter’s mouth, coating his throat, slick and hot and wet. He chokes a little. His arm is shaking with the effort of holding it up. But Peter has to do this, he has to get the kid to understand. “You have to promise.”

The kid takes the USB, looking like Bambi after someone shot his mother. It’s obvious that it’s the last thing he wants to do but Peter is good at reading people and he’s confident that the kid will follow through. He’s clearly a good person. Better than Peter probably.

He lets his arm drop back against the concrete with a thump and a soft sigh. It’s a relief not to have to strain to hold it anymore. All of his strength - superhuman or not - seems to have completely deserted him. He doesn’t know how much time he has left.

Footsteps. Peter’s heart beats so hard it hurts, vision going fuzzy as all the blood in his body seems to rush at once.

“You have to go,” Peter gasps. He can’t let Kingpin find the kid - and not just because of the USB drive. Kingpin will kill him. Peter has no doubt about that.

But the kid hesitates, head half-cocked towards the sound, but eyes still firmly on Peter. The USB is still gripped in one of his hands but the other clenches and unclenches around nothing, as if he wants to grab hold of something.

“What are you doing? You have to go!” Peter doesn’t like the note of desperation in his own voice. He doesn’t like the way the words slur around the blood on his tongue either.

The kid’s face contracts with - pity? indecision? - Peter can’t tell but the expression sends electricity shooting through his chest, makes the tingling in his fingers burst into renewed life. The kid is about to make a bad decision - Peter can tell.

“No. Whatever you’re plann-“

“I can’t leave you here,” the kid interrupts and Peter fights against a groan. He had expected as much. “You’ll die.”

“You’ll die!” Peter snarls. He can’t let the kid do this. “Look, I can handle myself just-“

But the kid seems determined not to let him finish his sentence. “Shut up!”

He’s moving debris, trying to pull Peter out of the wreckage. Over the sound of shifting rubble Peter can make out footsteps, voices, fast approaching.

“No, listen,” Peter tries to push the kid away but _God_ his arms are so weak. Or maybe the kid is just really strong because the next second he’s pulling Peter out of the rubble and over his shoulders in an awkward fireman’s carry.

Peter thinks about all the universes he’d seen just moments ago. Thinks about the quantum immortality theory - where had he heard that? Physics? Philosophy? It’s as if Peter can feel his realities diverging. Knows with an odd sort of certainty that this is the point where they branch off. One little decision. In another reality Peter is probably dead. 

The kid shifts underneath him and something _moves_ in Peter’s chest, lancing pain through his entire body. He chokes on a gasp. That’s another branch, Peter thinks, dazedly, as his vision swims and greys and his head goes strangely light. 

The kid is saying something, low and urgent. Peter can’t make out the words. He’s standing perfectly still, even though they should be moving, and Peter thinks it probably has to do with the awful sound that just came out of his mouth.

“Go,” Peter thinks he manages to say. The footsteps are louder now, he can hear them even over the ringing in his ears. They’re close. If Kingpin catches them he’ll kill them both.

The kid thankfully, finally, starts moving, picking through the debris in an awkward sort of half-crouch. Peter can’t tell if he’s bowed beneath Peter’s weight or if he thinks the crouch makes them harder to see. He wishes the kid would just leave him behind - let him be a distraction. It’s doubtful that he’ll survive even without a run-in with Kingpin. Peter’s never been this badly injured before. 

Even so, it’s impossible to entirely squash the hopeful warmth in his stomach. If he can just see Aunt May again...MJ...if he just gets to say goodbye.

They’re scrambling over more rubble - well, the kid is scrambling over more rubble, Peter is mostly just lying uselessly across his back - when Peter’s spider-sense pings painfully. The kid’s must go off at the exact same time because he throws himself over a mostly-shattered railing, spilling Peter to the floor in a painful sprawl and ducking over him, as if shielding him with his own body.

Peter does not like that. The kid is _far_ too young to be doing that. He’s far too young for all of this really. If Peter wasn’t busy trying to keep his pain between his teeth he might feel guilty about that _again_.

As it is he only just manages to keep his scream locked in his throat.

“Shhh,” hisses the kid, as if Peter is being purposefully loud. 

Peter would say something snarky but if he opens his mouth he’s afraid he might let something else slip out. There’s a reason the kid is shushing him anyway. Voices. Footsteps. Right beside their hiding place. It’s Kingpin, speaking to one of his minions in a voice that’s probably meant to be quiet but doesn’t quite manage it.

“How can you have lost him?” Kingpin snarls and fear prickles over Peter’s skin, a little electric current. He’s talking about him. “He got blown up! He can’t have gone far.”

“We thought we heard something over here but-“

There’s a heavy thump, the sound of flesh against flesh, and the minion’s voice cuts off with a pained little whimper. Peter flinches in sympathy, feels the kid do the same above him.

Then more movement, sounding closer to them than ever. The kid has gone so still and quiet that Peter isn’t even sure if he’s breathing. Peter himself clamps his hand over his own mouth, trying to stifle his pained, ragged breaths. Another branch of reality stretches out before Peter’s eyes. They would have died here, after Kingpin found them, in another life.

In this reality, the footsteps move away. Heavy, shuffling beats. Peter’s heart seems to be keeping time with them _shhh-thump, shhh-thump,_ until they gradually fade from hearing.

The kid lets out a relieved breath, body slumping like a puppet with his strings cut. Peter lets his own hand fall back against his chest.

“Ok, ok, ok,” the kid is saying, voice pitched so quiet that Peter can barely hear him. He doesn’t think he has to though; he gets the distinct impression that the kid is talking to himself. “I’m gonna pick you up now.”

Ok, that last bit was aimed at Peter. Even with the warning Peter can’t help the hiss that escapes him when the kid hauls him back over his shoulders. It hurts. And it’s awkward. The kid can’t be older than fifteen and the top of his head just about reaches Peter’s chest, so Peter kind of swamps him, and he’s too weak to do much to help the kid out. He’s pretty sure his feet are dragging on the floor. It’s hard to tell though - he can’t really feel them.

They’re moving again. Bumping over rubble, making halting, stop-and-start progress towards the exit. Peter winces every time the movement jars his chest but manages not to let any noises escape. The last thing he wants is for the kid to slow down because he’s afraid of hurting him.

They have to get out. Who knows where Kingpin could be lurking.

Finally, _finally_ , Peter feels a breeze on his face, brushing against his skin through the holes in his mask. 

As soon as they’re outside the kid stops. Too close to the building for Peter’s comfort. Too close to Kingpin - who knows when he might come looking outside to see if Peter managed to drag himself out here - but the kid is hesitating, clearly disoriented.

“Where-“

“Aunt May’s,” Peter interrupts. He tries to make the instruction firm but his voice is too weak, rattling in his torn-up throat.

“What? No, we need to get you to-“

“Get me to Aunt May’s.” His voice is stronger now, although his head throbs in protest, alternating between punishing awareness and a sort of dizzy, floaty dissociation that makes it feel as though his brain is leaking out of his ears. 

Peter struggles. Tries to concentrate. Tries to cling to awareness long enough to rattle off his Aunt’s address. The kid is still hesitating. They’re out in the open - exposed.

Peter’s spider-sense goes off again, a painful pulse of sensation. For a moment he wonders if perhaps this is it, the end. Perhaps the kid has only prolonged the inevitable and Peter is about to finally die right here, draped across the poor kid’s back.

Then the kid jerks sideways before taking off at a dead sprint and Peter is reminded, painfully, that he’s still alive. Something smashes into the ground they had just been standing on. Peter tries to twist his head to see it but his brain is sloshing around in his skull like jello and it hurts too much to move.

The kid is somehow sprinting, carrying Peter, and talking all at the same time. “¡Ay, mierda! What is that? Oh my God, oh my God.”

Peter isn’t sure. He’s aware, vaguely, through the haze of pain, of something following them, moving quickly between buildings as the kid bursts out onto the street. Bizarrely, Peter finds himself embarrassed: he’s aware of how pathetic he looks, heroic Spider-Man battered and bruised and useless, draped over the back of a little kid. Then the kid skids left, feet slipping over the concrete, hand shooting out to keep them from overbalancing straight onto the pavement, and narrowly avoids the Prowler as he hurtles past on his motorbike, and Peter suddenly doesn’t have the brain capacity to be embarrassed. It’s too busy being bounced around in his skull.

His eyes slam shut. He groans. Suddenly he’s afraid that he might be sick.

“Hold on,” mutters the kid. Peter swallows against the bile in his throat, gagging, fighting the queasy clenching of his stomach. The fear in the kid’s voice hurts to hear - Peter himself is well past fear.

“Right,” Peter manages. Then, “RIGHT!” as the kid starts to turn the wrong way down the street.

He skids. Rights himself. Starts down the street with impressive speed. Peter is pretty sure that the Prowler is still right on their tail but they’re so close, so _close_ and Peter just wants to see Aunt May one last time.

The car comes out of nowhere. 

Peter isn’t entirely sure what happens. One moment he’s bumping painfully along on the kid’s back, the next he’s flying through the air. Everything whirls dizzyingly around him, as if the whole world is spinning too fast. For a long, drawn out second all Peter can think is that _of course_ this would happen, and then he hits the ground hard and everything goes black so quickly that Peter doesn’t even feel the pain of it.

 

***

 

Peter wakes up. Which is a surprise. There’s someone sitting at his bedside, breathing quietly, which is definitely less of a surprise. Peter turns his head, squinting his eyes against the soft light in the room and the sharp pulse of pain that the movement entails, and smiles.

Only it isn’t his Aunt at his bedside, or MJ. The person sitting next to him is too big, too broad, and appears to be entirely black and white.

The shock that jolts through Peter takes his breath away, jerks him fully into consciousness with a painful sort of clarity. It’s a flood of adrenaline straight to his abused muscles. His spider-sense tingles but not in the way it usually does when he’s in danger - it’s more like…

It’s more like when he had found the kid.

“You’re awake,” the man at his bedside says. He’s still wearing his mask so Peter can’t read his face. But he recognises him. From the rift.

That can’t be good.

“Who are you?” Peter asks. The words are slurred, they seem to drip out of his mouth slowly, like treacle. He can’t quite shape his lips around them. And Peter should probably be able to read the other man’s expression, even with the mask, but his head hurts and his vision is oddly hazy.

Or maybe that’s just the weird sensation of looking at someone who’s actually black and white. _Black and white_.

“My name is Peter Parker.”

Peter was expecting that - really - he had seen the alternate universes after all, but it still makes his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

“Right,” he says. He feels horribly queasy and Peter isn’t sure if it’s the shock of the situation or if it’s his wounds, which are throbbing at the edge of his awareness. He isn’t sure how long he’s been out but even his accelerated healing is probably struggling with the damage.

“I’ll alert the others that you’re awake,” says the other Spider-Man as he stands. His coat flaps, like a breeze has just rushed in and caught it up, but Peter doesn’t feel anything.

The black and white Spider-Man doesn’t seem to be expecting a reply because he disappears - there one minute and gone the next. Is he always this dramatic? Peter can feel his eyelids drooping. Any energy he’d had is fading quickly but he has to stay awake. The other Peter had said he was alerting the others which means - Aunt May.

Then the door opens and suddenly his Aunt is striding towards the bed. Peter’s heart thumps so hard that he feels light-headed - or maybe that’s all the tension that he hadn’t even realised he was holding rushing out of his body. To his surprise tears spring to his eyes.

Aunt May swoops down on him and wraps strong arms around his neck.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she murmurs and Peter is surprised to hear a tremble in his voice. He chuckles.

“No promises,” he says, wrapping his own arms around her even though it feels like a monumental effort to work his muscles.

After what feels like only seconds - he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to hug her for long enough again - she straightens up. Her hand smooths through his hair. Someone has wiped the blood from his face but his hair still feels stiff and dirty as she presses it against his head.

“Miles wanted to see you, if that’s alright?”

“Miles?”

She shifts and Peter sees the kid, standing shyly in the doorway.

“Hiya kiddo,” Peter offers and the kid smiles. Something warm and satisfied blooms in Peter’s ruined chest. “Thank you for saving my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! :)


End file.
